


Voodoo Moon

by Medie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Challenge: spn_harlequin, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-24
Updated: 2010-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-07 12:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are ghost hunting in Louisiana and there's this girl...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voodoo Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [](http://havocthecat.livejournal.com/profile)[**havocthecat**](http://havocthecat.livejournal.com/) for handholding, encouragement, and talking me down off the ledge a couple times and thank you to [](http://dangerusliasons.livejournal.com/profile)[**dangerusliasons**](http://dangerusliasons.livejournal.com/) for sleep deprivation and beta reading - if you're interested in seeing a dustjacket for this fic, it can be found [here](http://i82.photobucket.com/albums/j267/ca_me/Medie/voodoo_moon.jpg)

The house looked like a corpse, dull and bloated in the Louisiana sun. The hurricane and time had conspired together against the wood, chipping the paint and bowing the decks. Looking at it made Annabeth's heart hurt as the breeze, heavy with the smell of the flowers, pushed half-heartedly at her dark curls. "It's barely standing," she said in a whisper, fingers gripping the car door tight.

"Now, Bethie, don't you start like that," her father said with a sigh as he got out of the car and walked around to stand with her. He looked up at the house, taking in the white pillars smeared with mud, a coating of dirt that spread up and out. Even the second floor hadn't escaped and she didn't want to think about the damage the water had done to the house's interior. "Sure, it's a bigger mess than we thought it would be but it's not that bad either. It is going to take a bit more doing to fix than we thought, but we'll manage." He squeezed her shoulder. "Now, don't you go worrying yourself into a dither over this. It's not as though we're goin' to have to sell our souls to fix it."

He walked forward, picking his way through the debris that littered the front lawn. "We'll start by hiring ourselves a few boys from town; get them to help with the worst of it." He turned, grinning at her widely. "Too bad your Mama wasn't here to help us," he announced, "we're going to have us a grand old time fixing the place up."

Annabeth folded her arms and leaned on the door, not quite as enthusiastic as her father. "Somehow, Daddy, I can't see it."

He chuckled. "You never were much of a dreamer, Bethie."

She smiled faintly. "Dreams weren't my problem, Daddy," she said. "It was the waking up part that killed me."

-

To Sam, the drive down the coast felt like an evening's stroll through a graveyard. The miles of ruined coastline with not even a stray animal were hard to see, made all the more so by random bits of civilization left ruined by the storms. A tricycle in a tree in front of the smashed remains of a house made him drop his gaze, digging around until he found one of Dean's magazines to read. That lasted as long as it took to flip idly through it and toss it back beneath the seat.

Turning, he reached around to find his bag and the books he'd left in it. He knew Dean was watching him but he said nothing as he pulled out a book at random, settling in to read it. "You think we'll be much longer?" he finally asked, acknowledging his brother's amused glances.

"You mean are we there yet?" Dean mocked, laughter in his voice. Whether or not he was bothered by their surroundings, Sam couldn't tell. He _knew_ of course, but outwardly his brother gave no sign. "Yeah, we're almost there. But, hey, if you need to get out and go tinkle or something, you lemme know, right? Don't ruin the seats."

Sam tossed an annoyed look at him. "Dean..."

Dean grinned and turned his gaze back to the worn, cracked concrete that was supposed to be the road. "In case you hadn't noticed, Sammy, you're a little restless. You've been fidgeting like you're six again and mad at Dad for not stopping at the 7-Eleven so you could use the bathroom."

Rolling his eyes at the reminder, Sam straightened up in the seat. "Guess I don't like the scenery," he dismissed. "Not exactly the best view."

"Your tax dollars at work," Dean said with a smirk. "Well, it would be if we actually _paid_ them." He shrugged. "That explains it, Sammy; this whole place is still a mess because you forgot about April 15th."

"Smart ass," Sam muttered.

"Well, yeah," Dean acknowledged. "And this is news how?" Not waiting for Sam to answer, he continued, "Look, they had a huge-ass hurricane, Sam and the government is shit at fixing stuff. End of story."

"Not quite," Sam said, putting aside his book in favor of his laptop. "But there's not really a department of afterlife affairs to report the spectral activity to." The thought made him grin. "At least, not outside the FBI and they like you a little too much right now to risk calling them up."

"Last time I checked, little brother, they think we're both pretty damn interesting," Dean reminded, not that Sam needed it. He wasn't sure what had brought them out here more, the spike in supernatural occurrences, or the need to escape the FBI's sudden interest. In fact, he put them at pretty much even odds.

"Yeah," Sam said, "but we both know Hendrickson only has eyes for you." He batted his eyelashes at his brother, smirking. "Who am I to get in the way of true love?" He heaved a melodramatic sigh. "Now, if only you two crazy kids could work things out. It's a tragedy really."

"Fuck you," Dean grumbled, turning off the interstate. As they neared the town, the wreckage began to thin and show signs of a clean up process. Some houses were under repair, others demolished to make room for new construction.

The little signs of life made Sam's smile come easier. "Oh no, fuck _him_," he countered, holding up one finger. "Just don't forget dinner first, I've got a feeling he's not a cheap date."

"You keep this up, little brother, and you're walking," Dean threatened, pulling into the parking lot of the first diner he saw. "Come on," he said, getting out. "I'm starved."

With a shrug, Sam shoved his laptop back into his bag and followed.

-

With a grunt, Annabeth lifted two cans of paint into the old ford pickup they'd resurrected. Bending down for the next two, she wrinkled her nose in distaste at the smell kicked up from the pan of the truck.

"Lord have mercy, Annabeth Covington, when was the last time you washed that monstrosity?" Vanessa Delray asked with a playful grin, hitching her youngest son higher on her hip. "It smells something awful."

"Doesn't it?" Annabeth grinned back, lifting the next two cans into the truck next to the others. "And it's been about as long since you washed that old behemoth of yours." She nodded at the equally grimy truck her friend was driving. "Where did you drive it to get so filthy?"

"Oh, no place special," Vanessa drawled. "Just left it out in the yard one afternoon and when I come back, well, it looked just like that. Why, I've no earthly clue what could have happened to it."

They shared a laugh as her son, Zachary, rolled his eyes at the antics of the adults. Still smiling, Annabeth chucked him beneath the chin to see him giggle and hide against his mother's neck.

"So, am I to assume, judging by the plethora of supplies you're buyin', that you and your Daddy plan on reopening the plantation?" Vanessa asked. "Folks were startin' to wonder if you were ever going to try, guess we all just can't imagine living here without Mercy to go to. Why, Christmas would never be the same."

Annabeth smiled and pushed her sweat-dampened curls back. "Well, we're a long way from Christmas Eve at Mercy, I can promise you that." She thought of the plantation house and its ruined rooms, feeling the weight of the work left to do weighing on her heart. "There's an awful lot of work to be done first, Van. You have _no_ idea. Daddy's actually coming into town later to look for a few men to hire. We're gonna need all the help we can get."

-

The diner was named Mama's and was apparently the heart of the town. Small and crowded, everyone seemed to stop in for a while, whether they were looking for a meal or just to check the notices posted on the corkboard that decorated one wall. Sitting in a booth, a guy could hear _everything_ if he wanted. By the time Dean slid into the booth across from him, Dean knew that old man Covington was back in town, looking for workers to fix up his plantation, the Theroux brothers were making moonshine again, and someone named Sara had run off with a FEMA worker in Dallas. Apparently, though, that was good riddance to bad rubbish as she'd never amounted to much more than a whole lot of trouble for her family.

"What are you laughing at?" Dean asked, eyeing the heaping plate of food the waitress was setting before him with interest.

"Tell you later," Sam said, smiling his thanks at the woman as she did the same for him. He had a feeling the sharp-eyed woman didn't miss much and waited until she was a safe distance away before asking, "You find anything?"

"Yep," Dean popped a fry into his mouth and moaned in satisfaction. "This is fantastic," he proclaimed, shoving several more into his mouth.

Sam nodded impatiently. "Yeah, the fries are amazing. What'd you get?"

His brother rolled his eyes and swallowed a mouthful of beer. "Well, there's the usual haunted plantation stories but I did find a winner." He pushed a scrap of paper across the Formica surface of the table. "This one got turned into a bed and breakfast by the family a few years back. Never had any reports of hauntings before but, since Katrina, it's racking up a hell of a reputation. Making up for lost time I guess, but anyway, the family's come back to try and re-open the place. Bet whatever spirit's moved into the place isn't going to like the company."

Sam chewed thoughtfully as he looked over the address and the name scribbled beneath it. "I've heard this name," he said. "He's looking for workmen to help with the restoration. Apparently, the family's been running the place as a bed and breakfast so they want to get it back to action."

Dean raised his eyebrows with interest. "Really?" he said. "Well, that's sweet. We get ourselves hired and we can walk right through the front door and have the run of the place." He stopped at the disbelieving look Sam knew was now on his face. "What?"

"You?" Sam said. "_Construction_ work, Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "me. So what? Not like I haven't done it before."

"You sure you know which end of the hammer hits the nail?" Sam grinned, ducking the fry his brother tossed at him. "Dean Winchester doing an honest day's work? This one I'm going to have to see to believe."

"Oh, just you wait, Sammy boy," Dean warned. "Just you wait." He reached for his burger. "Eat your dinner, we've got to get out to that plantation before dark and be at our most persuasive."

Still grinning, Sam - for once - did as he was told.

-

Driving up to the plantation, the landscape and outlying buildings looked like something out of "Gone with the Wind" with a dash of "Day After Tomorrow". Dean whistled when they drove past the wreckage of a barn that looked like it had been smashed to hell by a massive juniper tree, one likely uprooted by the storm. "Damn," he said as they looked at the huge trunk. "Imagine the winds bad enough for that? See, that, Sam, is damn impressive."

Leaning over to look past his brother, Sam nodded. "Hope nobody was inside."

"Would explain our angry spirit problem though," Dean chuckled. "I got dispatched to my eternal reward by an oversized toothpick; I'd be pretty damn pissed off."

Sam sat back with a roll of his eyes. He briefly considered a response but then the main house came into view and he stopped. "Wow."

Though obviously damaged by the storm, the house seemed defiant in the face of the destruction that surrounded it. From beneath a layer of grime, it stared out at the world as if daring all comers to try and finish what a hurricane could not.

He liked the place. It had gone through hell and was still standing. Battered and beaten, sure, but still standing. He knew what that felt like.

Sam knew Dean was watching him, little glances stolen across at him from the steering wheel, but he didn't' care. He just sat and stared. "This place is _amazing_," he said, leaning out to look up at the house as they pulled to a stop. "Can you imagine growing up somewhere like this?"

"You can't," a woman's voice said. "It was pretty damn magical at times." Surprised, Sam looked over to see a slim brunette watching them from just behind one of the pillars. "Can I help you boys with something?" she asked, putting down the bucket of soapy water that she had been holding.

When she walked out into the evening light, they got their first good look at her. The Scarlett comparison was inevitable and she held up to it well with long dark curls and equally dark and smoky eyes. Not to mention the light accent that colored her words.

Hearing Dean's quick indrawn breath, Sam elbowed his brother hard. "Don't even think about it," he warned in a mutter before getting out. "Actually," he smiled at her, entranced as she reached up to push a stubborn dark curl from her face. "I think we can help _you_."

"Well, now, is that right?" she asked with a smile. "And how would you be proposing to do that, exactly?" Not as tall as him, she tilted her head back to look him in the eye and drew his gaze to the line of her throat. The answers that flashed through Sam's mind sounded suspiciously like Dean and he bit back a frustrated sigh.

"Yeah," he said instead. "My brother and I were passing through town and heard you were looking for people to work on this place? We were hoping you still needed the help."

Her dark eyes widened with surprise and then excitement. "Oh, you are?" she said with a sudden smile. Sam's own smile widened and he nodded, something that made her laugh with relief. "Well, aren't you two just an answer to prayer." She pushed at that rebellious curl again and he almost reached for it.

"We like to think so," Dean agreed from beside him, breaking the moment and surprising him. He hadn't heard Dean get out of the car. "Name's Dean, Dean Forrester, and this big lug with the dumbstruck look is my little brother Sam." He smiled. "I'm guessing that you're the lady of the house?"

She laughed. "As close as you're likely to get around here anyway," she held out a hand to Sam. "I'm Annabeth, Annabeth Covington." A nudge from Dean had him belatedly reaching out to shake the offered hand. "You just missed my father, he went in to town to pick up a few more supplies and see if he couldn't find a few men to help."

Reluctantly releasing her hand, Sam watched as she held it out to Dean as well, shaking hands quickly with him before saying, "Now, I suppose you boys both know your way around a hammer and such? I'm assuming the answer's yes; it's a bit of a drive out from town just to look around."

"I'll confess we're not exactly professionals," Dean said. "But we've done our fair share of construction here and there. Pays the bills when you need, y'know?"

Annabeth nodded. "Quite," she said. "Well, we can't pay you much but it's a roof over your head and three square meals a day." She smiled wryly. "Though, I admit, it's not much of a roof at the moment."

"It's perfect," Sam blurted before Dean could speak. "Thank you."

"Oh, believe me," Annabeth drawled, "I'm the one who should be thanking you. This old house needs all the help she can get. It's like seein' a family member laid up in the hospital." She looked down at the bucket of dirty water by her feet and back at the pillar she'd been scrubbing. "Never mind that," she decided. "How about you two grab your gear and we'll see if there's a room in this place that's habitable. Otherwise, you'll end up having to sleep on the floor of _mine_."

"God, I wish I believed in Santa Claus," Dean muttered as they walked back to the car.

"Don't say it," Sam warned.

"Oh come on," his brother gave him a look. "Like you wouldn't be telling Santa what a good boy you've been and to please, please, please swing down quick and ruin a few bedrooms?"

Sam wished the smack he gave him was one of principle, but, for once, Dean was spot on. "Shut up," he said, leaning into the car to grab his bag. "Just, shut up, okay?"

"Aww, Sam," Dean grinned. "Do you have a crush already?" He shouldered his own bag and waited for his brother. "Well, that's gotta be a record, we just met the woman." He looked back. "Not that I can't see the attraction."

"Dean?" Sam looked at him. "I will kill you," he said. "Plenty of places down here to hide a body. They'd never find you ever again."

Dean snickered at him. "Sammy's got a crush," he singsonged under his breath as he turned to look at Annabeth. "All right," he called out, "where to next?"

-

If someone had asked Annabeth to guess the occupants of the Chevy Impala, she never would have thought to say anything close to what emerged. She wasn't quite sure she bought the story they'd given her but they seemed honest enough, if a little strange, and lord knew they needed help and there wasn't much else to be had.

She glanced back at the two as they followed her into the house, both of them trying to hide their expression as the musty air hit them. "It'll be better soon," she assured. "We've been trying to air it out but you've got to keep a close eye on things when you've got all those doors open. Otherwise, you wake up to unpleasant visitors in the night." She mock-shuddered, remembering a few of her own run ins and smiled when Sam grinned at her. Her stomach did a little flip at the same time, the thrill of the shared moment racing through her like lightning.

This one was trouble of the best kind as her grandmother would have said and it had been a while since Annabeth had seen trouble that looked like Sam Forrester. Describing him took some doing and she was more than happy to tackle the challenge.

Leading them up the stairs, she stole a look at him and watched as he craned his neck to look at the ceiling, one hand resting on the railing as he followed her up the stairs. He was a mystery that she couldn't even begin to know how to solve. There were so many things about him that didn't quite add up to the story he and his brother were telling.

She was not expert but he didn't carry himself like an occasional carpenter and now, distracted by the house, he straightened up and relaxed into himself. His full height dominated the space around him, dwarfing both his brother and Annabeth. Neither she nor Dean were all that short but walking next to Sam she felt like a little girl. Annabeth deliberately ignored the thrill that raced through her when she miss-stepped and Sam casually reached out, steadying her without thinking.

His hand lingered too long again, reminding her of the awkward attempt at shaking hands, and she looked at him. As if just realizing what he'd done, Sam looked back and they stared at each other. Annabeth felt color rise in her cheeks but couldn't quite find it in herself to speak and break the moment.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Dean chose that moment to do it for her, "How old is the house?" he asked, stopping ahead of them on the landing. He looked up at a painting, mercifully spared from the damage that plagued other parts of the house.

"It was built around 1846," she answered, automatically falling into the role of historian. In the years they had run the house as a bed and breakfast, she had grown accustomed to telling these stories over and over again. She could almost recite it by rote. "It was, as you'd expect, a sugarcane plantation and it's been in the family since those days." She laughed, recalling the family stories. "It's one of the few around here that didn't get looted and burned by the Yankees when they came through."

"How'd they manage that?" Dean wondered as they joined him on the landing.

"Oh, no one really knows for certain," Annabeth said. "Over the years, the family's told all sorts of stories to try and explain it, but I doubt any of them would hold much water." She stopped and looked up and down the hall, trying to recall which room would be a better choice.

Finally deciding, she set off again and they followed along.

"So you really don't know?" Sam asked and she shook her head. "Well, what's your favorite explanation then?"

Annabeth stopped at a door and opened it for them, grinning lightly. "Well, I suppose, that would be the one where the lady of the house put the Yankee general under a spell and sent him off with nothin' on but his britches." She laughed and stepped back. "Well, you two get settled. I'm sure, when Daddy comes home, he'll want to have a word with you but that'll keep until supper."

She looked up at Sam as he stopped in the door, looking down at her, and her laughter faded into a smile. "I'll see you then," she said.

He smiled and nodded.

It seemed neither one of them wanted to move but then Dean called his brother's name and they were blushing at each other. It was a monumental effort to make her feet move but Annabeth started forward as Sam stepped back inside the room and closed the door behind him.

"Damn," she said to herself and smiled.

-

"You hear that, Sam?" Dean rounded on him as soon as the door closed.

"It's a family legend, Dean," Sam said, dropping his bag onto a chair. "That doesn't hold a lot of water."

"But it might," Dean pressed. "Stories like that start somewhere and in this part of the country, it's not that unheard of. What do you think I was doing down here a couple years ago? You know as well as I do what people around here are capable of. Just because most of them would never even think of doing it, doesn't mean that there isn't one or two that wouldn't give it a shot. Shit, you're facing down a good chunk of the Union army, you do what you've got to do, right?" he looked around the room. "Not saying we've got a voodoo practitioner running around, but it's interesting. And speaking of interesting, these are some pretty sweet digs. They must have been making a killing off of this place before the hurricanes."

Sam dropped his coat beside his bag and walked around the bedroom with interest. "Depends on what the upkeep was," he said, knocking his knuckles against the solid oak of one of the beds. "Hopefully, it wasn't much; they're going to need every penny they've got to rebuild this place." He sat down, bouncing a little on the firm mattress. "So, we wait for nightfall and check the place out? See if there're any spirits enjoying a night out?"

"Probably should find out which room your girlfriend's in too," Dean said. "There's a chance she could be a target of whatever's hanging out here." He waggled his brows. "Maybe it's some dead Union soldier looking for a good time."

"Asshole," Sam muttered, pulling out his laptop. No wireless signal, but there hadn't been one for a while. "We need to find the office too, see if they've got a working net connection."

"Junkie," his brother teased. "Most of the research we're going to need is in town anyway. Probably all locked up in some dusty, moldy library." He dropped down on the other bed and put his feet up. "Hopefully, it won't take you too long to find it."

"Hey, you're the one that's familiar with the area," Sam pointed out. "It's been years since I was here." He grinned. "Besides, one of us should stay here at all times right? Just in case the spirit shows up and tries something with Annabeth?"

He caught the pillow Dean threw at him and put it behind his head. "Thanks man," he said and put it behind him. "You're right, this room is pretty amazing."

-

"So, you found two of them all on your own?"

"Well, I didn't find them, Van," Annabeth said, tucking the phone against her shoulder as she opened the refrigerator door and looked inside. "They turned up at the front door and said they'd heard about it in town." Grabbing some vegetables almost at random, she spun away and kicked the door shut behind her. She just made it to the table before they slipped free of her arms, spilling across it in a rush that made her scramble to catch them.

"You sound skeptical," Vanessa said. "Something feel wrong?"

"Well, not exactly," she hedged. "But there's something _different_, you know? They said up front that they're not professionals, at least not with construction work. But they're something, all right."

"Are you sure you're not just being paranoid?" her friend prompted, the sound of a child wailing in frustration in the background.

Annabeth waited for Vanessa to deal with it before continuing, "Like there's such a thing right now?" she said. "I mean, come on, Van, I'm not the only one carrying a gun with me when I go into town and we both know it. No one's taking chances with everything that's gone on in the city, and two guys driving up to the door out of nowhere? I would be crazy not to be asking some questions."

"And yet you gave them a room without even hesitating?" Vanessa said. "I'd call that taking a chance." Her amusement colored the words as she added, "Girl, I've got to see this Sam Forrester for myself. Anybody who can make you lose it like this is worth taking a look at."

"It's a chance," Annabeth allowed. "But, as crazy as I know this has to sound, there's something in their eyes that says I can trust them. I don't know if I can explain it what it was, lord knows I've never done this before, but I think I can." She laughed, scraping a carrot in quick, brisk movements. "Besides, at the moment, I'm not sure Daddy and I can afford to be all that picky. They might be mystery men but they're mystery men with two strong backs who swear they know which end of a hammer to hold. I'd probably hire Doctor Jekyll if he walked up and offered his services at this point."

"Here's hoping that's not who you've got upstairs," Vanessa said. "Hate for you to wake up to Mr. Hyde copping a feel."

"Oh, he won't," Annabeth started chopping the carrot, relaxing as she fell into the rhythm of the activity. "Got that handgun remember?" she reminded with a laugh. "Besides, thanks to those big brothers of yours, I'm not entirely useless in a fight."

"That's what you call it, huh?" Vanessa laughed. "As I recall, Beth, you couldn't knock out Peewee Herman."

"Well, no, but I learned how to fake it good," Annabeth swept the carrot up into a bowl and reached for the next one. "I can't explain it, Van, but I'm sure. These two aren't going to murder me and Daddy in our sleep."

"Speaking of people murdering you in your sleep, the captain show up again?" Vanessa asked.

"Not since the first night," Annabeth said. "Besides, I was probably just dreaming."

"You know better than that around here," Vanessa said. "You don't fool with things like that, Annabeth Covington. Not if you value that pretty neck of yours."

"He didn't try to hurt me, Van," Annabeth said with a huffed laugh. "I just opened my door and there he was, he tipped his hat and then turned away. I closed the door and when I opened it again, he was gone. He wasn't trying to get into my room! For all I know, he was standing guard."

"I know," Vanessa's voice lowered. "That's the part that worries me."

"That there was a ghost guarding my bedroom?"

"What he might have been guarding it _from_," Vanessa said.

Annabeth stopped for a moment, thinking about it. "You take these things too seriously, Van," she said finally. "Look, I'll talk to you later, if I don't supper going, my stomach's going to kill me, never mind the workmen." She backed up to the phone and hung it up.

"You had a ghost guarding your bedroom?"

Jumping, Annabeth pressed a hand to her chest as she spun to face Sam, watching her from the doorway. "Lord, but you just scared the hell out of me," she said, laughing breathlessly. "And, no, that's just a friend of mine, being silly. I had an odd dream the other night and she swears it really happened." Going back the carrot, she finished chopping and added it to the bowl with the rest. "It didn't."

"What happened?" Sam asked, walking into the room and picking up a potato to peel it.

"Oh, nothing important," she waved a hand, dismissing the idea. "I had a dream that there was a confederate soldier standing outside my room." Annabeth reached across the table for another potato, "Nothing more to it than that."

"He was just standing outside your room like he was guarding it?" Sam prompted, sitting down on one of the stools. "Guarding you, maybe?" His eyes met hers and Annabeth's hands stilled as she found herself caught up in his concerned gaze. She could get lost in a look like that one and her mind happily went where she didn't want it to go. She hadn't missed the deft, easy way he handled the knife as he worked over the potato. It hinted at a familiarity with them and a control that made her swallow hard.

She tore her gaze away from his and looked down at the potato in her own hands, trying not to laugh at herself. It had been _way_ too long since she'd had sex if a stranger peeling potatoes could get her this fired up.

That was it, just as soon as the house was back up and running, she was spending a weekend in New Orleans and she was going to get good and laid.

"It was just a dream, Sam," she said, laughing and hoping her thoughts weren't written all over her face. "A _dream_ with a very handsome soldier standing outside my room. I'm probably not the first Southern girl to have a dream like that." Lord knew, if this kept up she'd be having dreams about a union soldier with a suspiciously familiar face and he wouldn't be stopping at just the tip of his hat. "Honestly, you don't need to be looking at me like that."

"Like what?" he said, grinning sheepishly.

"Like I'm about to be a special episode of American Justice," she said. "Dreams don't kill people."

He looked down at the potato, suddenly fascinated by it. "So, uh, what do I do with this?"

Annabeth shook her head and pointed at the pot. "Hope you're a better handyman than you are a cook."

-

Dean wasn't in the room they were sharing and when Sam found him, he was helping a man unload a truck out front. The curly dark hair and the eyes that bore more than passing resemblance to Annabeth told him it was her father.

"There you are, Sammy," Dean called out, hefting a sheet of plywood from the truck. "Give us a hand will you? Mr. Covington, this is my brother, Sam. Sam, this is Harrison Covington, Annabeth's father."

Putting down a bucket, Harrison held out a hand and smiled at him. "Nice to meet you, son," he said as he shook Sam's hand swiftly and then went back to the back of the truck. "So, my daughter went and hired the two of you on, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, leaning past him to help. "I hope that's not a problem for you, sir."

"Oh no," Harrison shook his head swiftly. "Believe me, I've been trying to hire on a few people to give us a hand out here but, truth is, most of the people around here aren't too keen on working out here." He gestured to the house behind them. "Apparently there's been some odd things happening about the place while Bethie and I were in Dallas and now nobody's of a mind to risk it." He snorted a laugh. "They think the damn place is haunted. Silliest idea I ever heard."

"Damn straight," Dean agreed with a nod as they started into the house. "The whole thing with the lights coming on was probably just kids out here trying to put one over on some drunk." He gave Sam a smirk as they fell into step together. "Besides, I thought that kind of thing was good for tourists."

"It is," Harrison said. "Believe me; the tourists eat that stuff up like it's covered in an inch of gravy, that's the kicker. We've always had stories like that around here, especially with the house, and it's never bothered anyone before. They always thought it added a little romance to the place, southern belles and their beaus waltzing on the front lawn, that sort of thing. But now, a few accidents and they think some ghost has it in for any man that walks through the front door."

That addition to the news had Sam and Dean sharing a look behind his back.

"How's that, exactly?" Sam asked. "There've been accidents?"

"Oh don't you go worrying about it," Harrison demurred. "I'm not as young as I used to be and neither is this house. I fell down a few times, had a few things break on me, nothing worth concerning myself over. Just need to be more careful about how I work around this place. Truth is, that was part of the reason we agreed to hire help when we came back and saw the mess this place was in. It needed a few repairs before we left; now Annabeth can't stomach the idea of us working here alone and something happening. I can't blame her for that; the poor girl's been through enough over the past few years with her Mama and all. I can't be the reason she stays up nights worrying." He nudged open the door with his foot and turned to back in. "You two are regular godsends."

As soon as he'd turned around again, calling out a greeting to his daughter, Sam was telling Dean, "We need to talk."

-

"So, Dad's got ghosts trying to wipe him out while upstairs, his little girl's got one standing sentry outside her door," Dean wiped his forehead and went back to scraping the side of the house, taking the paint and grime with it. "A Confederate soldier no less," he grinned and shook his head. "You've got to love this place."

"Annabeth isn't afraid of him," Sam said from where he was working. "What I'm not sure about is whether or not that's because he didn't mean her any harm or because she thinks it was a dream." He frowned. "She said all he did was tip his hat to her and when she opened the door again he was gone."

"More like she just couldn't see him," Dean said. "And like hell it was a dream." He stopped working for a minute to turn toward Sam. "So we've got a house with a history of haunting -"

"Or so it seems," Sam corrected.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Okay, so we've got a house with an _alleged_ history of haunting, an ancestor who may or may not have Jedi Mind-Tricked a Union General, and our very own Southern belle who thinks she's dreaming about Rhett Butler while the ghosts try to get Daddy out of the way." His grin widened. "Did I mention I loved this place? There's never a dull moment."

Sam made a face and wiped his forehead. "So, you think a spirit's locked on to Annabeth and, as part of the obsession, is trying to murder her father?"

"Seems like," Dean agreed. "We're going to have to keep an eye out for this Confederate friend of Annabeth's, see how he behaves. Might be a lot more going on here than we're thinking, multiple spirits with multiple goals is going to make it a bitch to figure out."

Sam knew it was coming before Dean spoke, and stopped to wait for it. When he was ready, Dean turned with a wicked smirk and said, "Course, I'll need something to do while you're off having heart to hearts with the lady of the house. Smooth, Sammy boy, smooth."

"Fuck off," Sam mumbled under his breath, going back to work. His arms burned as he scraped the paint and mud from the house, but he barely felt it. Instead, he grinned, remembering the little spark of mischief that always appeared in Annabeth's eyes when she laughed. The deft movements of her hands when she worked sent his brain places. He could definitely think of worse ways to spend his time than with her.

He heard Dean's snicker, but chose to ignore it as he said, "So, dibs on first shift tonight?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "I wanna get some sleep."

-

"This could be considered vaguely anti-climatic," Dean complained a few days later as he and Sam navigated the stairs with sheets of plywood. "How many nights does this make with bupkis to show for it?" Putting the plywood down, he looked at his hands. "My calluses have calluses."

Sam stood on the stairs, waiting for him to pick them up again, "Almost a week," he said. "But admit it, we've never eaten better."

That brought the expected grin from his brother's face. "How much do I love that?" Dean said with satisfaction. "Anytime that woman wants to test a recipe out on me, I'm game. Some day, we've got to come back here when this place is up and running, see what kind of a spread gets put out for paying guests."

"And actually pay for it?" Sam gave the plywood a meaningful look to which Dean slowly responded, reaching out to pick it up again. "That'll be a first."

"Shut it, Sammy, the boss hears you and that's more questions than I'm in the mood to answer." Dean grumbled.

"Says the man talking about a lack of ghostly sightings," Sam snorted.

"That's not the same thing," Dean said. "That's just morbid curiosity." He looked up at the walls as they passed. "It's not like it'd kill you guys to make an appearance, you're already dead!"

"Oh yeah, like that's going to work," Sam said.

"Never know," Dean shrugged. "If I suddenly trip over nothing at all, then I irritated one of them." He paused and looked at Sam. "Say, maybe you should try and make a move on your girlfriend; if they're really fixated on her that ought to piss 'em off but good."

"Oh yeah," Sam nodded, "that's a _great_ plan, Dean."

"Well, it is," Dean argued. "If they're protecting her from guys, a guy is actually going to have to get close to her to prove it. Since, for some mystifying reason, she seems to prefer you, that nominates you for the job."

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean smirked and added, "I say it's another of those times when you've just gotta take one for the team, but if you're not up for the gig? I'm totally willing to give it a shot."

"Don't even think about it," Sam warned.

"Okay then," Dean said, smirk firmly affixed to his face. "Then you're up, little brother." He nodded to the doorway in the entrance below where Annabeth was just stepping inside with an armload of groceries. "Go play hero, I got this," he tapped the plywood.

"Dean," Sam said.

"_Sam_," Dean shot back. "We need to know what they want with her. I'm not telling you to marry the girl, just _talk_ to her a little, give her that look you like and we'll see if they bite." He smirked. "Or if she does."

For that, Sam made sure to drop the plywood on Dean's foot, listening to the muttered curses as he walked down the stairs. "Hey, Annabeth, need a hand with those?"

She looked up, a wide smile lighting her face and bringing an answering one out of him. When she smiled like that, it was impossible not to smile back with the kind of smile that you felt right down to your toes. "Sam, you're a prince" she said gratefully as he took two of the bags she was carrying. "I think the store is starting to suspect I'm hiding an army out here."

Sam's cheeks reddened at the teasing comment. "Must be the fresh air out here," he said, enjoying the way she laughed. He reached past her to close the door, glancing up to watch Dean disappear around the corner with the plywood. "Either that or just your cooking."

"Oh god," she laughed. "I'm not that good."

"Yeah, you are," he nodded. "I saw the diploma on the wall. You studied cooking?"

"Yeah," Annabeth nodded. "And hospitality. I was a kid when my father decided to turn the house into a bed and breakfast. It costs a lot to keep up a house like this, the revenue means we can stay here. I love this house, I love living here," she looked around them and smiled. "This house feels like a friend to me and I wanted to do everything I could to stay here. That means keeping the business as successful as possible." Her smile faded. "Guess I never expected Mother Nature to ruin that."

"She hasn't yet," Sam nudged her, smiling. "By the time Dean and I are done, this place'll be shining."

"You two have already done an amazing job," Annabeth said. "We'll have the rest of the paint here by tomorrow."

"As long as the weather holds, we should be able to start painting tomorrow too," Sam said, following her into the hallway that led to the kitchen as Dean came down the stairs and went out the door again. "We're keeping an eye on the forecast, it looks good."

"It'll be nice to see the outside clean again," Annabeth smiled at him as she bumped the kitchen door open with her hip. "That was the worst part to come home to, I think. It makes the house look so dead, it was like losing an old friend."

"I can see that," Sam said with a nod, suspecting her feelings had more to do with the house's invisible occupants than the house itself. He put the bags he'd been carrying down, automatically unloading them and passing things over to Annabeth. "This place is pretty special."

She nodded, slipping past him to go to the refrigerator. Her body only brushed against his for a second, but it was long enough for Sam to memorize the curve of her breasts as they slid against his body. He closed his eyes briefly, fingers curling tight around the baguette in his hand, letting himself indulge in the moment.

"Sam?" Annabeth's voice snapped him out of it like a splash of cold water. "Can you hand me that?"

Sam coughed as he turned, hoping his face wasn't red as he handed the bread to her. "Sorry," he said.

"No problem," she smiled. "Are you okay? You seem a little flustered." Putting the bread down, she went to the cupboard and reached for a glass. "You want some water?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "I'd appreciate it."

"It's a warm day," she tsked, "you and Dean shouldn't be tugging around that plywood, you'll give yourselves heatstroke."

"We're fine," Sam said, taking the glass. Her fingers touching his didn't help his concentration any and he took a big swallow of the water, nearly choking on it. "Just takes a while to get used to the humidity. It's been a while since I spent a lot of time down here."

Pouring a glass for herself, Annabeth leaned against the table with him. "You know," she looked at him, "I really don't know that much about you, do I?" she smiled. "You're good at tricking me into talking about myself, but you never return the favor."

He cleared his throat. "Maybe you just need more practice at tricking me."

She laughed, ducking her head so her dark curls fell forward around her face. Sam almost reached out to brush them back, his fingers twitching with the urge. "I was never much good with tricking people, just couldn't seem to make it work."

"Good," he said seriously. "You're too good for that."

Annabeth looked up at him, her dark eyes staring intently. "Who are you, Sam?" she wondered. "Really?"

He wanted to tell her, it was on the tip of his tongue to tell her, but old habits rose up and he held back. "To be honest, most of the time, I don't even know the answer to that one." Considering it, he decided to keep the deception a close to the truth as possible. "My Mom died when I was a baby, so we moved around a lot until I went to college. Some stuff happened," Jess on their ceiling in flames, "And I ended up traveling with Dean. Dad died a few months ago, so it's just us now." He shrugged and put the glass down the table. "In all of that, I'm not sure where I fit anymore."

It might have been a little closer to the truth than he'd intended but Sam didn't regret it when Annabeth slid a hand into his, squeezing gently. "You'll figure it out," she told him. "This house is a good place for that."

Despite Dean's coaching, Sam really hadn't intended on kissing Annabeth when he'd followed her into the kitchen. Whatever his brother was thinking upstairs, he had only wanted to help. Mostly. Looking at her at that moment, Sam was beginning to wonder how much of what he was telling himself was utter bullshit.

Annabeth made a move, as if to step away, and he followed, reaching for her. She stopped when his hands lightly brushed over her arms to draw her gently to him. He looked down at her and she looked up as if spellbound.

She started to speak, her lips parting slightly, and he took the opportunity.

He heard her sigh and felt her breath against his mouth as he brushed his lips over hers. At the first touch, she tensed then relaxed against him, letting him hold her.

Sam smiled when he felt her reach past him to put her glass down and then her hands were on his shoulders, fingers curling into the material of his shirt. Her mouth opened beneath his and he deepened the kiss, tongue meeting and teasing hers.

She moaned lightly, pressing closer and he pulled back to smile against her lips which Annabeth answered with tug on his shirt in a silent demand for more.

He happily obliged the demand, his hands moving up to play with her long hair, stroking through the curls until finally grabbing handfuls. That made her laugh, giggling against his mouth, and he pulled back to tease, "I kiss you and you laugh?"

Annabeth laughed harder. "Guess your technique needs work," she said. "I'd say that lots of practice is in order. You know what they say about it making things perfect."

He grinned, "I always did like practice." Which wasn't exactly true, Dean would have had plenty of examples to contradict it, but it wasn't exactly a lie either. He was good at those, too good if he thought about it much.

"Hmmm," she hummed happily, tilting her face up to meet his. They kissed again, pressing closer together; her hands warm against his t-shirt. It was too easy to picture the shirt out of the way and, with the way Annabeth's fingers restlessly moving, Sam knew he wasn't the only one thinking about it.

"Bethie? You in the kitchen, honey?"

Those eager fingers stopped their motion as she froze in his arms, her father's voice throwing the proverbial cold water on the heated moment. Reluctantly, Sam lifted his head and looked toward the door.

"Damn," Annabeth muttered, stepping away as Sam dropped his hands. She gave him a look of pure frustration, and, grinning, he leaned over to steal another kiss.

It was quick, and light, but when they parted, he murmured, "I'll talk to you later."

She looked as hopeful as he felt when she nodded mutely, slipping free of him. Later.

-

When later came, it was far more so than either one of them would have thought.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of repairs, quick passings in the hall, and a torturously long dinner with her father, and Dean, in company. Crawling into bed, well past midnight, Sam closed his eyes and immediately pictured Annabeth, blushing at him across the dinner table. She hadn't been able to look him in the eye the whole night.

Dean was probably _still_ smirking, even though muffled snores could be heard through the blankets his brother had pulled over his head.

Other than the buzz saw in the other bed, the house was quiet; none of the detectors had picked up anything, and he had a feeling it was only a matter of time before Dean started making noises about maybe moving on. The accidents Annabeth's father had mentioned could have been exactly that, and Annabeth's dreams could have been exactly that. It was an explanation that sounded perfectly reasonable.

"Like hell," he muttered, opening his eyes. He had a feeling they were being watched by the spirits of the house, and they were in no mood to play the game the Winchesters had laid out for them.

Rolling onto his back, he stared up at the arched ceilings, watching the moonlight play on the patterns decorating them. The feeling of Annabeth in his arms came back, of her body warm and soft against him, and Sam groaned quietly. He did not need to be thinking about that now, though his own body begged to disagree as it responded to the image eagerly.

It was a bad idea to be thinking about her, it had been a bad idea to kiss her, and fuck if he didn't _care_. It was a dangerous thing to be feeling, and he knew it. Sitting up, he passed a hand over his face, as if trying to scrub the rebellious thought from his head. He did not need to be thinking about Annabeth right now, not like _that_

He needed to be thinking clear about this. Whether any spirits had shown themselves, or not, whether he could prove it, or not, Sam couldn't shake the idea that she was in trouble. Getting distracted by the memory of her body flush against his, or the look in her eyes when she'd stepped away from him, wasn't going to help matters. Not that knowing it mattered, his body seemed only too happy to remind him anyway.

Muttering a curse, Sam threw back the covers and got out of bed. He was halfway down the hall, heading for the only working bathroom on that floor, when a noise stopped him.

The sound of Dean's EMF meter shrieking to the heavens as Dean stumbled, groggy, into the hall with it.

In two steps, Sam was at his side and Dean held it up. "We got company."

Sam turned in the direction of Annabeth's room. "We don't, but I bet she does."

-

Opening the window just a crack, Annabeth slid into bed, sighing when her bare legs struck the crisp, cool sheets. She turned on her side, pillowing her head on one arm while the other slipped beneath the sheets to scratch a fly bite on her knee. Outside, she could see the clouds drifting slowly across the sky, briefly obscuring the moon with their passage, and it was all so normal that she could almost forget. She could almost put the feeling of Sam Forrester's mouth sliding over hers, the sensation of his hands ghosting over her body, out of her mind.

Her own hand drifted across her thigh as she rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. A shiver chased the touch and her body – already energized from the day – tensed up in anticipation. She closed her eyes, licked her lips, and let the memory of kissing Sam come back in full force.

Annabeth shifted, her hair whispering over the cotton pillowcase with the movement, and let her legs fall open as her fingers traced a lazy circle on her stomach. She could almost hear Vanessa's warning and mimicked her friend's drawl, "_Annabeth Covington, letting that boy turn your head and get you all hot and bothered when you don't know the slightest thing about him? Girl, it's downright crazy is what it is._"

She laughed to herself, her fingers slowly sliding downward. "Crazy," she said, agreeing. It was crazy; she had no way of knowing if Sam had told her the truth that afternoon, or if he was lying every time he opened his mouth. The mouth that had done its best to chase every rational thought out of her head and succeeded in fine style, she still wasn't thinking straight. The problem wasn't that she couldn't think - the problem was she didn't care and she didn't care that it was a problem. It had been so damn long since she'd gotten this caught up with a man that she couldn't remember the last time she had.

Always had to be good little Annabeth, the solid one, dependable. That Annabeth had disappeared the second Sam Forrester's mouth had touched hers, fleeing in the face of a wilder Annabeth who'd rushed to meet the kiss.

Sighing, Annabeth squirmed, her legs restless beneath the cool sheets. She moved her hips, rubbing against the mattress, and turned her head toward the door at the sound of footsteps. She closed her eyes again, listening intently and praying that it was Sam. He'd promised later and, all through the day, she'd waited for a later that hadn't come.

If that were him – If that were Sam, she didn't know what she'd do. Responsible, solid Annabeth wouldn't open the door. Responsible, solid Annabeth would send him back to bed with a polite rebuttal. The Annabeth that was lying in bed, listening and hoping, had other plans.

She wanted to open the door, invite him in, and damn the consequences. Unfortunately, the internal debate became moot when she realized the footsteps were heading away from her room.

Disappointed, Annabeth slumped back against the pillow and reached back to dig her fingers into the material. Staring at the ceiling again, she kicked the covers off and tried to relax as a light breeze wafted into the room through the window. The kiss hadn't been _that_ good.

Turning onto her side again, Annabeth closed her eyes and tried to sleep. After a moment, she began shivering and sat up to reach for the covers. It was a hot and humid night, so when her breath frosted in the air, a chill unrelated to the cold went down her spine.

"What in the hell?" she wondered, realizing that a white fog clung to the floor and was working its way across the room toward her bed. It had crept between her and her bedroom door, but Annabeth decided to make a run for it. Instinct told her she didn't want to be in her bed when it finally overcame in.

Bracing herself against the mattress, she tentatively put a foot down into the fog and shrieked in fright. It felt like she'd put her foot into liquid nitrogen, a sudden and brittle cold that stabbed through her skin like a thousand tiny needles. She yanked her foot back into the bed and rose up onto her knees, watching the fog start to work its way up the sheets.

_"MOVE!"_ a voice thundered in her head and she looked up, wild-eyed, to see her Confederate soldier standing in the midst. He waved and she stumbled backward, propelled by the force of the movement, and pressed up against the wall. It wasn't much of an improvement, but she clung to the temporary refuge as the soldier took up position between her and the fog.

_"Call for help!"_ he ordered. Annabeth didn't need to be told twice and she screamed Sam's name as hard as she could and kept on screaming until the door slammed open.

The soldier vanished when Sam and his brother stumbled into the room, the fog no impediment to them.

"Annabeth!" Sam crossed the room in two quick strides, snatching her up into his arms as his brother turned on the lights. She didn't resist, hiding her face against his neck. "You okay?"

She shuddered and shook her head mutely, not sure how to explain what had just happened. He didn't seem in any hurry to press her and she realized the thumping and slamming was his brother checking the room.

"See anything?" Sam asked, talking to Dean.

"Nope," Dean said. "Whatever it was, it's gone now." He sounded frustrated and she heard a strange, electronic noise. That brought her head away from the safety of Sam's neck, but only enough to see a mass of wires and casing in Dean's hand. He was staring at it with a thoughtful frown on his face. "Residuals are still lighting up like a Christmas tree in here though."

Sam sat on the bed with Annabeth still caught up in his arms and she shivered, reluctant to pull away from him. The feeling of his arms around her, the scent of his aftershave, and the warmth of his skin provided a tangible security that she wasn't above admitting she needed. "Annabeth?"

"Mm?" she said, not pulling away.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice in a soft whisper as he guided her backward. She didn't resist, but she wasn't happy about it either and caught a hand around his wrist.

It was then she realized he was holding a gun and loosened her grip. When he realized what had suddenly captured her attention, Sam smiled sheepishly and put it down. "Just in case."

"Right," she said.

Sam passed the gun off to his brother and then reached for her again, his hands sliding gently over one arm and leg. Still scared, she let herself be coaxed back into his arms. "Can you tell me about what happened?"

She laughed shortly and shook her head. "Not especially."

"That man, your nightly visitor?" Dean asked.

Annabeth looked back at him and smiled, nodding. "Yes." She closed her eyes to draw in a shuddering breath and felt Sam's hand rub her leg. "He tried to save me."

Opening her eyes, her gaze fell on the spot where he'd appeared. "He put himself between me and it." She looked at Sam. "It didn't hurt you."

"What didn't?" he asked, frowning.

"The fog." Annabeth gestured to the floor. "When I tried to run, it hurt." She rubbed the foot in question, her skin still tingling from the cold. "It was freezing."

Sam's fingers joined hers, stroking over the foot. She watched as he alternately rubbed, and probed, the skin. "It doesn't look damaged."

"Well, it wouldn't, would it?" she asked. "It wasn't - " she stopped and smiled. "Forget it." She looked away. "I don't know what it was." She just knew that it had hurt and that the soldier had done his best to protect her from it.

"Nothing good," said Dean and she glanced up to see him heading for the door. "I'll go talk to your Dad."

"Dad," said Annabeth, just realizing. "Where is he?" A new chill raced through her and she looked at him, alarmed. "What if that stuff went after him too?"

"I'll find him," Dean promised. "You two stay here." He left, but not without leaving the gun Sam had given him behind. She looked at it then at Sam.

He smiled and she tried to return it. Somehow, Annabeth didn't think it looked nearly as good as his. "I heard you," she said. "When you were going to bed." She recalled the sound of his footsteps moving down the hall and away from her. A faint laugh bubbled out and she heard the edge of hysteria on the sound. "I thought you were coming here."

Sam's cheeks reddened. "I should have," he said. "I would have been here."

"You were here soon enough," she assured. "And I wasn't alone."

"Right," he said. "Your soldier. Are you _sure_ he was trying to help?"

"Yes," she nodded. "He told me to move, shoved me back when it started up the bed." She smiled. "He told me to scream. I think he must've known you were coming."

"He might have," Sam said.

"I thought he was a dream," she said, remembering their earlier conversation. "That he was just my imagination on overdrive. I suppose it's a good thing he's not. Lord knows what would have happened if he hadn't been." The memory of the fog, thick and cloying?, around her ankle came too quickly, too easily back into her thoughts and she was shivering.

"Fuck," she muttered, frustrated with her own reaction. "I'm as skittish as a mouse in a roomful of alley cats."

Sam chuckled and she was struck by how easily he was taking all this. She'd been attacked by _fog_, had a Confederate soldier try to save her, and he was as calm as calm could be. "C'mere," he coaxed, relaxing back against the pillows and pulling her down with him.

She found herself being arranged against him, his hands prodding and guiding her into a loose embrace. "Try and get some sleep," he said. "We'll worry about this in the morning. It'll be easier to talk about this in the daylight."

Annabeth didn't quite believe that, but he spoke with the confidence of someone experienced in the matter. Another thing that didn't quite fit. "And you can tell me how ghosts and killer fog don't so much as ruffle your feathers."

He laughed, his hand working down through her hair in an irresistibly soothing motion. "I grew up with Dean, after that? Nothing surprises you."

Sam was lying, but Annabeth was too tired - and too comfortable - to care, falling asleep in short order.

-

When the light flicked off, Sam tensed. The gun Dean had left behind was on the bedside table, out of reach with Annabeth wrapped up in his arms. He was easy pickings for anything making a return visit and he cursed his inattention. Worry blinding him to something so _obvious_.

_"Relax,"_ an amused voice said and Sam froze, realizing who it was even as his eyes adjusted to the darkness to reveal the Confederate soldier standing by the light switch. _"She needs to sleep."_

His face looked almost tender as he looked at Annabeth; something Sam hadn't seen much of from ghosts. "Who are you?" Sam asked. Although he was loathe to wake the sleeping woman in his embrace, he couldn't help asking the question. It wasn't everyday he had a conversation with a ghost, and the novelty appealed to him.

The ghost grinned, removing his hat to reveal curly dark hair. _"The answer of who I am, sir, is a far longer story than I would care to tell, or you would care to listen to."_ He moved, quick, jerky, a blur that was hard to follow as he approached the bed to look down at Annabeth. His expression became one of worry, anger, and something Sam was reluctant to name. _"She's in danger, sir; more danger than you, or I, can truly understand." _

Sam didn't know if he believed that or not. "Who's she in danger from?" Thinking better of it, he amended, "What is she in danger from?"

The ghost opened his mouth to speak then frowned and looked over his shoulder, watching something Sam couldn't see. _"Later,"_ he said. _"But you must promise me this, whatever happens; you cannot leave her alone in this house. We can only protect her from so much, the dead have their limitations and we cannot act outside them."_ Warning delivered, he disappeared and left Sam looking at the woman in his arms.

Any questions about her safety had effectively been answered; it would be easy to do as the spirit had said. As long as Annabeth was in danger, there was no chance he was leaving this house – especially when they were no closer to figuring out what was going on. The spirit was protecting her, that much was obvious, but from what? The other ghosts in the house (were there other ghosts in the house? the spirit had said _we_), or something else? Something that was potentially worse.

The fog didn't fit with the typical visitation from the dead, Annabeth had said it was cold when she'd touched it, freezing to the point of pain, and that it had been targeting her. Since he and Dean had run through it without a hitch, Sam was inclined to believe her. The fog's focus did suggest Annabeth was its sole target, and if she was then it implied someone was directing it. Someone out there had a motive to harm Annabeth. The answer to the name of that someone hung on what exactly the fog had been so intent on doing to her. And since they couldn't interrogate _fog_ it wasn't going to be an answer easily found.

Frustrated, he thumped his head back against the pillow and sighed. The movement jostled Annabeth, who made a distressed noise in her sleep and pressed closer. The movement made Sam suck in a breath as curves pressed up against him in a slow, lazy move would have had Annabeth red with embarrassment were she to wake entirely.

Murmuring something he hoped sounded comforting; Sam threaded his fingers through her hair, sliding them down over the soft skin of her neck in a gentle rubbing motion. After a moment or two's work she moaned, low and relaxed, and he felt the tension in her body ease. Unfortunately, that moan didn't do any favors for the tension in _his_ body and Sam squirmed, trying to shift away from her before he embarrassed them both.

In her sleep, Annabeth followed, cuddling closer and Sam couldn't exactly miss the irony of his current position when she slid a leg over his, brushing over his already-interested cock. He bit his lip when she moved again, rubbing against him, and looked upward for some kind of distraction, any distraction that would take his mind off Annabeth's innocently seductive actions.

It didn't work and Sam had a feeling this night would get a starring role in his fantasies for a while to come.

The faint sound of footsteps approaching the bedroom brought a different sort of tension into his shoulders and he cast a quick, longing look at the out-of-reach gun before the door eased open. When Dean slipped into the room, Sam almost wished for the fog back. It took seconds for his brother to size up the situation and leer at him. "My, my, my, Samuel, you dog," he murmured, grin nearly splitting his features.

Flipping him off, Sam kept his mind on business and asked, "Was her Dad okay?"

"He's sleeping like a baby," Dean said. "My guess is he slept through the whole thing. Probably won't know a thing about it until Annabeth tells him. House is quiet, no sign of anything. Guess our girl was the main event tonight, but I'll keep checking the meters, see if they turn anything up. You two kids get some sleep." He waggled his eyebrows. "If you can, that is."

Briefly, Sam contemplated killing his brother, but decided against it. He would have to wake Annabeth up to do that and he wasn't in any hurry to. Though it wasn't exactly how he had pictured ending up in her bed, he wasn't in any hurry to leave it. "Out," he warned, waving his brother off.

Dean smirked, but moved the gun closer before he left, explaining, "In case anyone tries to ruin the moment."

He was out the door, and gone, before Sam had a chance to reconsider his stance on fratricide.

-

It was sometime after dawn when Annabeth awoke, the warm comfort of someone else's body beneath her cheek. She smiled lazily and snuggled in closer, rubbing her cheek against warm skin, happy to drift back into sleep.

Then she woke up, her memories of the previous night catching up to her in one horrifying burst, staring in horror at the smooth expanse of chest that she lay on. _Sam_.

Biting her lip, she closed her eyes and tried to relax while frantically working out a way to extricate herself from the bed without embarrassing them both. It wasn't going to be easy, her leg was comfortably tucked between both of Sam's and pressed against (oh _god_) him, her arm was draped possessively across his stomach and one of his arms returned the favor, resting on her back and holding her close against him. There was no way out of this that didn't involve heaping doses of humiliation.

Beneath her, Sam shifted in his sleep and sighed contentedly. His fingers slid along her back, left bare by the nightshirt she'd worn to bed, raising gooseflesh in the wake of their slow, circular motions. She pressed her lips together and swallowed, attempting to ignore the way her body responded to the casual touch.

It wasn't easy as Sam's fingers continued on, working their way down over her back. The temptation to moan was strong when his other hand, resting on her thigh, slid up and down in a motion that urged her hips to move with him.

Sighing, she stretched out her legs in a (hopefully) casual motion and sprawled across him. It wasn't much of an improvement, but it disturbed his roaming hands and gave her a moment to catch her breath.

She felt Sam tense slightly, the movement of someone waking up, and she tilted her head to look up at him. His eyes fluttered and then opened, taking a moment to fix on her.

"Hey," he said sleepily, smiling at her. A smile she couldn't help but return.

"Good morning," Annabeth said, cursing the shy edge on her response. Where had the woman so willing to throw open the door to her bedroom and invite him in disappeared to? She had Sam right where she wanted him, in her bed, smiling at her, and she wanted _out_?

There were days she wondered about herself. Reluctantly, she sat up, pulling the strap of her nightshirt up as she did so. Sam's eyes followed the motion, sending a thrill of excitement through her and she didn't rush to move off him. "Did you sleep well?" she asked with a wry grin.

He laughed, "Well, there was part of the night where some woman woke me up screaming, but other than that it was great."

Annabeth rolled her eyes, blushing at the same time. "My apologies," she tossed off, smiling at him. "Next time, I'll yell for help more quietly."

That made Sam laugh again. "Good." He sobered, features taking on a look of concern as he reached out to touch her cheek. "Are you all right?"

"Better than I should be," she said, realizing it was so. She was a lot less rattled by the attack than she should have been. "I suppose I have you to thank for that," she observed. "You make a quite comfortable pillow."

"Well, anytime you need one - " Sam began, then cut off when he realized what he was saying. "Um," he laughed, ducking his head. "That came out wrong."

Laughing, Annabeth nodded. "I know what you mean," she said and then leaned forward to kiss his cheek. "And it's sweet of you to offer."

He caught her before she could pull back, drawing her in so that he could kiss her. Unprepared and off-balance, Annabeth wavered for a moment before falling against him.

For one, tortuously long moment, they lay there as a tangle of limbs, each waiting for the other to say something. Annabeth pressed her face into Sam's bare chest, just breathing, until she felt - as much as heard - him chuckle. His hands skimmed over her, taking their time to help her up, and she was smiling when she met his gaze.

"That," said Sam, "I can promise was not planned."

"Lord I hope not," she teased. "If it was, you need more of that practice we discussed."

He looked at her for a moment, "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," she agreed with a grin, then shrieked when Sam unexpectedly rolled them. In the blink of an eye, she found herself on her back, looking up at him with her laughter dying on her lips.

"Practice," Sam repeated before kissing her. A sound that might have been a whimper escaped her when his mouth covered hers, tongue asking -- and receiving -- entrance. As his mouth plundered hers, Sam shifted his body to rest beside hers, freeing his hand to slide over the curves her body. The nightshirt she wore was no opposition to the heat of his hand as it mapped out the curves of her body.

When his thumb rubbed the nipple, moving the fabric of her nightshirt over it, Annabeth thought she would come unglued and cried out.

Sam answered her cry with a soft chuckle, a low rumble against her jaw line which made her shiver and arch beneath him with the promise of it. He seized upon the moment as an opportunity to explore, his mouth moving down the column of her throat and over the skin of her chest.

She knew it was coming when his chin nudged her nightshirt down, baring her breast, but she still wasn't prepared for his lips closing over her nipple while his hand continued to tease and stroke its twin. The surge of pleasure surprised her, it hadn't been _that_ long, but she didn't have time to care as Sam kept moving down.

His fingertips traced patterns along her thighs as they danced down her body, pulling her nightshirt with him and stretching it beyond repair.

"Hey," she protested breathlessly, when he drew it down over her hips. "I _liked_ that one."

Sam grinned, sliding curious fingers through damp curls. "I like this one better." She gasped and curled her fingers into the bed sheets, gripping tightly as her hips rocked into his leisurely exploration. One long finger slid into her, stroking gently, testing her reactions. "_Much_ better."

She tried glaring at him, but he grinned wider and, this time, two fingers slid in and out, avoiding the one spot where she needed it the most. "You're killing me," she complained with a pout.

"Ah, but what a way to go," he said, grinning.

"True," she moaned out, eyes sliding shut. "The fog had tried this last night, I wouldn't have been screaming."

She felt him lean over her, body hot against hers, and chuckle, "Oh yes you would have." His mouth slid over her, tongue tasting, and Annabeth moaned low. "If you don't scream, you're not doing it right." His fingers curled, sliding over that spot and she cried out. "See? _I'm_ doing it right."

Breathless, Annabeth opened her eyes and poked him playfully with her foot. "Keep talking, and you won't be doing much of anything," she grumbled.

He laughed at her and lowered his head again, "Yes ma'am." This time, when his mouth touched her heated skin and his tongue toyed with her clit, he did it _perfectly_. Annabeth's cry was loud enough to wake the dead.

Which, in her house, was a risky proposition.

-

Sam held his breath, slipping into the bedroom he shared with Dean. His brother was nowhere in sight and, relieved, Sam pushed the door shut and headed for his bag. Safe for now, he started digging out clean clothes to wear. If he could just get changed and down to breakfast without bumping into Dean, that would be good.

"You seem uncharacteristically relaxed, Sammy," said Dean from behind him. Sam could hear the smirk spreading across his brother's face with every word.

Shorts in hand, Sam muttered an oath. "Hiding behind the _door_, Dean?" He turned. "Isn't that a little juvenile?"

Dean's smirk widened. "All the better to bust your ass by," he said, pushing away from the wall. "No breakfast in bed, or did you two do the shower thing instead?" he asked, gesturing to Sam's freshly-showered self.

Sam rolled his eyes and turned back to his clothes, pulling a t-shirt over his head. "The other EMF meters come up with anything?" he asked as Dean snickered.

"Not a damn thing worth mentioning," Dean said, dropping down on his bed. "Guess all the action was in your girlfriend's room." He waggled his eyebrows. "Speaking of action –"

"Yeah, I think the ghosts really are protecting her." Sam zipped his jeans and sat down. "Just not the way we thought. After you left, Annabeth fell asleep and her Confederate soldier showed up. We, uh, talked." Unfolding his socks, he quickly detailed the conversation for his brother's benefit.

"Seriously?" Dean said when he was done. "He just showed up, did the cryptic warning thing, and left?"

"Just like that," Sam nodded. "I got the feeling he was rushed out of there, though. Like someone, or something, was coming after him. He didn't finish everything he wanted to say." He shrugged. "Not typical spirit behavior."

"Not that we know of," Dean said with a shrug. "It's not like we really let them stick around long enough for the serious heart-to-hearts." He frowned. "But nothing funny about it? He didn't try to skewer you with a cutlass or anything?" He almost sounded disappointed.

"Saber," Sam corrected. "And, no, he was just worried about something coming after Annabeth. He made it pretty obvious that he thought something was targeting her specifically. I think he was about tell me what when he got chased out of there."

"By the same something that was behind the fog?"

"That's my guess," said Sam. "And I'm also guessing that the something is a someone still very much among the living. It's just a feeling, but –"

"Yeah," Dean grinned. "The wonder-gut never lies." He slapped his hands against his jeans and got up. "Well, let's go eat something and pound a few nails. My gut tells me, your girlfriend's probably in a good mood so there's one hell of a spread waiting on the table."

He wasn't wrong, but Sam threw a pillow at him anyway.

-

Standing over the stove, Annabeth waved a hand briskly before her face. The slight breeze created by the gesture did little to displace the humid air that seemed to cling desperately to her skin.

Huffing a breath, she cast a forlorn glance at the air conditioner sitting dormant in the window. Unlike the fan, turning anemically overhead, the ancient machine had refused all attempts at repair. Like a lot of things in the house, it hadn't worked since the hurricane and Annabeth suspected it would take another one to get it to try.

"You know," she said, addressing the empty room and nodding meaningfully at the air conditioner as she spoke, "if y'all want to protect me, a little cool air would not go astray."

Apparently, however, her ghostly protector was not inclined to agree, or else, was off attending to other matters of concern. The air conditioner remained silent and she remained overheated. Heatstroke was not a concern for the dead, it seemed. Understandable, she supposed, when one was dead the only heat that was a concern belonged to more southerly locations.

She sighed, adding pepper to the pot. "It's not that I'm complaining, mind you. I'm pretty sure that you saved my life last night and, mind you, I'm all manner of grateful for that. So please, don't misunderstand me, but this kitchen's hotter than hell and without that air conditioner, it's only going to get worse."

Tasting the stew, Annabeth wrinkled her nose and shook her head at the bland taste. She'd been able to cook once, really she had. "Oh that's awful," she said, waving the spoon emphatically.

"It looks good to me," said Sam, planting a kiss on her cheek as he neatly took the spoon from her hand. She made a grab for it and laughed when he wrapped an arm wrapped around her waist, holding her out of reach as he helped himself to dinner. "Tastes even better."

"Yes, well, to _you_ it would," she said, breathless with her laughter. Try as she might, she couldn't break his grip and the harder she laughed, the less effect she was having.

He grinned at her, unrepentant and playful, and it looked good on him. Good and damn tempting to boot. "Are you telling me, _Bethie_, that I have bad taste?" His eyes swept over her in a meaningful look that sent a flush of pleasure rushing through her, memories of their morning in bed coming back in a second. He looked as if he was more than ready for a second round and she swallowed at the thought. He wasn't the only one "I thought my taste was pretty good."

"Well, no," she said, licking her lips. He didn't miss the action as his gaze fixed on her mouth, watching intently. "It's not that the stew is _bad_, it's just that it could be better." She perked up, smiling at him as he brought her in close. "It just needs a little something."

He grinned, looking down at her. "Got any ideas as to what?"

"Hmm, not yet," she shook her head, feeling his grip on her gentle, his hand sliding down to the small of her back and pressing her closer. "You?"

"Well, I've always got ideas," Sam said, "but Dean's the cook - if you consider macaroni and cheese to be cooking, that is."

"It all depends on the presentation," she said, resting her hands on his chest.

"He puts it on a plate," Sam offered.

Annabeth shook her head at him. "Men," she said in dismay. "It's a wonder you survive at all."

The laughter in his eyes dimmed as she wondered what she'd said wrong, but before she could ask, Sam kissed her. Forgetting even what the question was, she pressed closer and laced her fingers together behind his head.

Sam's mouth on hers was a temptation to all sorts of things, all sorts of delights and sins that good girls weren't supposed to try. Annabeth thought, then, it was likely a good thing she hadn't been considered a good girl since she'd been caught stealing old Mr. Morningway's apples when she was five.

Her mouth opening beneath Sam's, Annabeth untangled her hands to slide them down his arms, and chest, until she could rub against the hardness pressing into her. The playful touch earned a groan from Sam that ran through her veins like fire, lighting up every nerve along the way until her body felt like it might just burn away to ash.

Unzipping his jeans, she worked a hand inside, closing her fingers around him. Sam made a strangled noise when her other hand pushed his jeans out of the way, giving her room to stroke and tease.

She laughed into the kiss, thrilling with the way he responded to her, and then squealed when he picked her up and turned to rest her on the counter. "Don't want this to burn," he said, reaching over to turn off the stove. "I have a feeling we'll be starving."

Annabeth opened her legs, letting him step between them, and trailed her fingertips along his jaw. "What do you mean _will be_?"

His eyes darkened with all sorts of promises that made her squirm and he stepped closer still, tugging her forward on the counter until she was rubbing against him. "Point taken," he said, pushing her shirt out of his way. Her bra was no obstacle and his mouth on her breast, slick and hot, made her cry out and grab for him.

His hair was soft beneath her hands, warm from the sun overhead, and she clung to it desperately as he worked her with mouth and hands. She rocked against him, feeling his cock brush against her panties, shameless in her desire. "_Please_," she said, muttering the word into the sweat-slick skin of his neck. His t-shirt clung to him and, frustrated, she yanked on it.

Sam pulled back long enough to help remove it, letting her throw it over his shoulder and out of their way. Annabeth didn't see where the shirt landed. She only cared that it was out of her way and gave her access to his body. He groaned into her mouth, his hands working her panties down before pulling away, digging in his pockets. She watched, impatient, as he removed the condom from the wrapper and put it on.

The process seemed to take forever, his hands fumbling as he put it on, and when he finally slid into her, Annabeth could scarcely contain her cry of relief. He was moving almost immediately, hands holding her hips as he thrust.

She wrapped her legs around him and pushed a hand between them, fingers rubbing her clit as they moved together. When she realized Sam was watching, his eyes fixed on the sight of her touching herself, Annabeth sucked in a breath and bit her lip. If she let go and cried out, letting herself scream the way she so desperately wanted to, they'd have themselves on hell of an audience for the big finish.

Not that she'd care. Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back and bare her throat as her body happily built itself toward the inevitable. In seconds, she felt Sam's lips moving up toward her ear. When his mouth glanced over the sensitive skin there, she shivered, her body tensing up.

When she came in a dizzying wave of pleasure, she pressed her lips to his and let her cry of satisfaction be lost in the touch of his kiss.

-

Pressing his face against the skin of Annabeth's neck, Sam leaned against the counter and tried to catch his breath. "Believe it or not," he said, amused, "all I wanted was to try the stew."

Annabeth laughed, her fingers sliding along his back, tracing out lazy patterns. "If you're going to try and convince me of that one, Sam, you might want to pick your pants up first."

He shuffled his feet, felt them move around his ankles, and grinned sheepishly at her. "I thought if I did that, it would give me away."

"Well, if anyone comes through that door, you're going to be giving away more than a veiled motive," Annabeth teased, pressing a kiss onto his shoulder. "Personally, I think you should be charging for that view."

He chuckled and returned the kiss, dropping one into her collarbone. "Are you staring at my ass?"

"Yes," she admitted, sitting back to smile at him.

"I feel cheap," he teased. "Cheap and used."

"Mmhmm, says the man who snuck into the kitchen for a quickie." Annabeth kissed him and leaned back on her hands, her smile turning impish. He leaned in to follow, one hand skimming her bare knee. "Dinner's liable to be late because of this, and if it is, you're lying for me."

"Fine by me," he said. "You'd be surprised how much practice I get at that."

"Sam, I've met your brother," she reminded.

"Point taken," he agreed, contemplating his next move. He really should pick up his pants, but that would mean moving away from Annabeth and he really wasn't in the mood.

Funny how things can change in the space of mere seconds.

"Yo, Sammy, you in he--oh my god, I did not need to see that!" Dean's voice announced from behind him, the words briefly muffled.

"Annabeth, I did not just hear that, right? My brother didn't walk in here and see--" Sam grimaced as the blushing Annabeth stared silently at him then slowly shook her head. "Fuck."

"Would be the word of the day," Dean agreed. "Annabeth, I back up, I'm gonna go right out this door again, right?"

"Yes," she squeaked out, hiding against Sam's shoulder.

"Good to know," said Dean. Moments later, the door swung back into place with an audible thump.

"That? Would by why we need a lock on that door," Sam said, stepping back and bending over to pick up his jeans. "I'm going to kill him." Zipping up, he looked at Annabeth, disheveled, flushed, and smiling at him sheepishly. "This isn't exactly how I pictured this going."

Her smile widened and she ducked her head. "This isn't how I pictured my day going at all," she said, brushing her skirt into place. Sam hesitated, watching her; suddenly nervous about what she might say next.

When she lifted her head, he realized he need not be, her smile having softened considerably. "But right up until the ill-timed interruption, things were pretty much perfect."

Relieved, Sam flashed a quick grin and leaned in to kiss her. "I should probably go threaten him within an inch of his life." Releasing her, he stepped back and wasn't surprised by the mischief lurking in her gaze. "Yeah, I know," he said, waving a hand. "It's more like he'll torture the hell out of me, but I like my version better."

"Hmmm," she nodded. "So do I." He helped her down from the counter, which meant stopping for another kiss, and then she was pushing him backward. "Get moving," she said, smiling at him. "I'll never finish dinner at this rate and we've worked up an appetite."

Sam reluctantly started for the door, turning back as he did. "See you later? After dinner, I mean?"

Tilting her head, Annabeth winked, "You know where my room is."

Sam grinned at that. He was still grinning when the kitchen door swung shut behind him and he saw Dean leaning against the far wall, smirking. "Not one word," he warned, holding up a hand.

"Sorry, Sam," his brother said. "I can't leave this one hanging."

Sam groaned. "Seriously, Dean, _don't_."

"Oh but I have to, my little brother got laid, this is an occasion worth celebrating across the land." Dean pushed away from the wall, making an exaggerated show of looking around him for eavesdroppers. "Though, gotta question your choice of locations. I mean, yeah, kitchen sex is _hot_ and all, but that's taking one hell of a risk. This time, it was me, but it could've been her dad and dude, around here, you could've gotten a butt full of buckshot. Better than the eyeful I got though." He shuddered dramatically. "_Man_, that was not something I want to repeat anytime soon."

Sam looked upward, as if praying for restraint. "Wasn't much fun from our angle either."

"Dude, did I derail round two?" Dean pressed a hand to his chest. "I am _so_ sorry, man. I know how rare this is for you," he gave Sam a shove, attempting to turn him back toward the kitchen. "Go, further your fornication. You need a lookout? I've got some time. How about one cough for her father, or two?" He paused. "No, two, two's good. One could be accidental. Dry throat or something."

Sam closed his eyes and breathed. Killing his brother would be bad, very, very bad. Or so people said, he wasn't sure anymore.

"Y'know," he said, "Dad and I had our differences, but it's a fucking miracle he didn't kill you."

"It's funny," Dean smirked wider. "I used to tell him the same thing about you."

-

"So, how bad was it?" Annabeth asked, curling up with Sam that night and resting her head on his chest. She rubbed her leg against his and cuddled closer, the breeze from the window drying the sweat on her body eliciting a slight shiver.

Sam responded by cuddling her closer, rubbing her shoulders lazily. "On a scale of one to ten? He went easy on me, it was a little unnerving."

She laughed, kissing his chest. "You've had a rough year, maybe he's just happy something good happened for once." There was more to it than Sam was saying, she could see it in his eyes, hear it in the hesitations in his words.

"Yeah," said Sam, nodding. "Probably. Dean's a pain in the ass, but he worries." That sadness had crept back into his eyes and she leaned on one arm, her palm rubbing over his chest in a slow, soothing circle. "Probably worries too much, but worrying about me's a family tradition. Dad and Dean made a high art form out of it after my mom died."

"And after losing your father, you're all the family he has left," Annabeth said, sighing. "My Dad and I are the same way. I think that's why he's so hell-bent on rebuilding this place. It's always been a part of the family and after my mother died, it's all we have left outside of each other." She kissed his chest, her mouth lingering on his skin. "You get tunnel vision."

"We've had that for years," Sam rubbed a thumb along her cheekbone. "If someone wasn't a Win-" He covered the slip with a cough, but she still noticed. "If someone wasn't family -- "

"It didn't matter as much," she finished, filing away the mistake for later consideration. "You traveled a lot; it's hard to form ties when you're living on the road like that."

"Yeah," Sam smiled nostalgically. "That was part of it, but so was the fact my Dad could be a real asshole. I'm pretty sure he's probably pissed off at least one person in every state."

She grinned. "And most people just collect ugly souvenirs."

"Well, we just had the car," Sam shrugged, "not much room for souvenirs." The response was too casual to slip past unnoticed, the studied nonchalance catching Annabeth's attention. It didn't take much to realize Sam'd had issues with his father, issues that were still unresolved, and it took even less to realize those issues were tied up in whatever it was that he wasn't telling her.

Not that she expected him to. They were a little new to whatever this was to be swapping family secrets as pillow talk. Instead she kissed him and settled down again. "Do you think we'll be getting any unexpected visitors tonight?"

"Depends," said Sam. "Are we talking the kind of visitors that have legs and spectacularly bad timing?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of horror movie rejects. Maybe the blob tonight? Fog is so last year," Annabeth said, adopting the tone of a bored movie reviewer. "Thumbs down on that one."

"Anybody's guess," Sam mused. "It disappeared last night when we showed up, but that's no guarantee whoever's behind it won't just kill us both."

"Are we sure that's what it wanted? What _they_ wanted?" Annabeth said, amending her words. She was having a hard time believing someone had sent _fog_ to try and kill her. "I mean, really, Sam, wouldn't an actual weapon do the job easier?"

"Maybe, maybe not," said Sam. "It depends on what they wanted from your death." He sounded like someone who had a lot of experience in the area and, again, Annabeth frowned. He sounded like some of the men she'd grown up around, people who spent their time chasing after things like ghosts and such. Most were ordinary people, but she did know of some practitioners who helped out when the dead didn't rest easy. "There's probably someone around here who would know how to do something like that."

"Meaning Voodoo?" she asked, sitting up. "Yes, it might be possible for someone to control something like this," she allowed with a sigh. "But I can't think of anyone who _would_. This kind of thing would have to be performed by a Bokor, and if there is one in the area dabbling in this kind of darkness, they're not going to be broadcasting it."

"A priest playing with murder?" he sat up with her, slipping an arm around her shoulders. "Probably not. I'm guessing that wouldn't go over well."

Annabeth laughed. "Not really, no." She pushed a hand through her hair and looked at him. "I have no idea why a Bokor would even _want_ to target me. What could they be getting out of it? The closest I've ever gotten to Voodoo is being friends with people who are practitioners and, for them, it's a matter of faith not," she wove a hand, frustrated, "whatever this is. It feels like a plot out of some bad TV movie. Add stereotypes about Voodoo, a pretty girl, some sex, and stir. It's stupid."

"It might not be that," said Sam. "I'm just throwing it out there as a possibility. Maybe someone you know could look into it?"

"Maybe," she said. "But it's not going to be that easy." There was always asking Vanessa, her grandmother was back in town and could find out. "I'll call a few friends in the morning." She rubbed her forehead and looked sideways at him. "I'm going to feel ridiculous doing it."

He grinned at her, kissing her temple, "Better to feel ridiculous than feel nothing at all."

Annabeth rolled her eyes and laughed. "I'm not going to _die_, Sam."

"No, of course you aren't," Sam said, pulling her closer. It was the end of the conversation, but lying in his arms, Annabeth couldn't escape the feeling his response had been more prayer than promise and she shivered.

-

Annabeth got up before Sam, but he was awake before her. Lying in bed, he watched her through shuttered lashes as she crept around the room and tried to get dressed without waking him. It was hard to keep the grin off his face as she teetered on one leg, putting the other into a pair of shorts that were just short enough he almost objected. With her wandering around the house dressed like that, there was no way he was going to be able to think straight and Dean was going to drive a nail through his own hand the second he saw her.

Still, saying something would mean letting on he was awake and Sam couldn't ruin the moment that way. The subtle intimacy threading through it threatened to overwhelm him and he shifted, stretching his legs out. The movement drew Annabeth's attention, but it gave him precious moments to think about something else. Moments to think about anything, but the memory of watching Jess do the same thing, or how his throat tightened with the realization of how fucking good it felt to be here again.

He turned his head, slow and lazy like someone still sleeping, and heard Annabeth's soft sigh of relief. Moments later, she leaned over him and brushed a kiss across his forehead, fingers combing his hair out of the way.

It was tempting to reach out, pull her back to bed with him, and forget there was anything but four walls and a bed to think about. Just once, he wanted to go back to that. To live in a world where fog didn't slip into girls' rooms and try to do God knew what to them in their sleep, where monsters didn't stalk people in the night, and mothers and girlfriends didn't die shrouded in flames on ceilings.

As Annabeth slipped from the room, Sam rolled over and opened his eyes to stare out at the clear morning sky.

"Fuck," he growled and threw back the covers. He gave her two minutes to get downstairs; minutes spent hauling on his own clothes, before he stole into the hallway and headed for Dean.

His brother was sprawled out across his bed, dead to the world, until Sam closed the door hard behind him. "Huzzwha?" Dean mumbled, looking up at him blearily. "Dude, what the hell?"

"One of us needs to go into the city," Sam said without preamble. "See if someone there has any idea what caused that fog."

Dean frowned. "Are you talking what I think you're talking?"

"Voodoo?" Sam nodded.

"Just because we're in Louisiana," Dean scrubbed a hand through his hair and blinked, trying to wake up, "does not mean it's automatically going to be that. There are a thousand different things that it could be."

"Well, we don't have the time to check out a thousand different things," Sam said. "So we'll start with the most obvious one. Annabeth knows people who are practitioners of Voodoo."

"Sam, you can spit and hit New Orleans from here, of _course_ she does," Dean said. "Been here before, remember? It's what some people believe and this doesn't sound like something up their alley." He pointed at Sam. "And if the word zombie crosses your lips –"

"It won't," Sam shook his head. "And I'm not convinced a Bokor is the one trying to do this. What I think is that you do need supplies to pull this stuff off and, since the hurricane, the place you get those supplies are a lot less plentiful."

"So, what you want me to head into the city and see if any of them have had customers looking to create supernatural fog meant to do _something_ to a really hot brunette my brother's lusting after?" Dean yawned. "I get coffee first. Coffee and breakfast, and I swear to God, there better be bacon."

-

"_Annabeth_!"

Her father hissing her name in an urgent undertone brought Annabeth's head out of the oven, fast enough to hurt like a son of a bitch when she knocked her forehead against the door on the way out. Blinking back tears, she pressed a hand to the spot and looked up at her father with a frown. "What?"

He said nothing, just gestured frantically at her, urging her toward where he stood at the back door. Frowning wider, she got up and looked behind her. Distantly, she heard the sound of hammers and remembered Sam and Dean were finishing the veranda.

"Daddy, what in the hell is going on?" she asked, pushing the screen door open and stepping out.

"You tell me," her father said, taking her by the elbow and guiding her down the back steps. She nearly tripped on the way down, but her father caught her, pushing her back up and keeping them moving. His urgency was confusing, but his insistent refusal to explain was even more so.

"Tell you what?" she asked, frustrated. "What is going on here? Why are we running?"

"We're not running," he said. "We are looking at something."

"And exactly what are we looking at?" she asked, stopping by Sam and Dean's car and folding her arms across her chest. "I'm not moving another step until you tell me what fool idea you've got in your head this time." Frustration steeped into every word, she stared at him and lifted her chin in stubborn refusal to move.

"You don't have to," her father said, and reached past her to lift up the trunk. "We're looking at _that_."

Annabeth stared at the weaponry arrayed in the Impala's trunk with disbelief. "I..." she fell silent and just stood there.

"You go inside, Bethie," her father ordered. "You go on up to your room and you lock the door behind you. Don't you come out until they're gone, you hear me?"

"I hear you," she said, reaching out to lean on the rim of the trunk, looking in at the contents. She knew what her father was intimating, but somehow, she didn't think she agreed. "Whatever is going on here, Daddy, I am not going to go run and hide." She brushed one finger along the handle of a machete, seeing dark rusty colored stains that might have been blood. "I am going to go inside to find Sam and then I am going to find out what the hell is going on. I know, you think I'm still your little girl, but I am perfectly capable of handling this," she said and straightened up.

"No, honey, I'm afraid you're not," her father murmured and then everything went black.

-

Sam snickered when Dean whacked his thumb with a hammer, yelping dramatically. "How many times is that?" Sucking the bruised digit, Dean glared at him and mumbled something while Sam wished mightily for a camera. He glanced up at the window above him, hoping to see Annabeth grinning down at him, but no such luck.

"Is it just me or is it really quiet around here?" Sam said, stepping back from the house and looking around.

Dean popped his thumb out of his mouth. "You mean, your girlfriend hasn't been out here twenty times like she usually is? Yeah, I noticed." He frowned. "I've been dying for a glass of water."

"Annabeth's not a waitress, Dean," Sam grinned. "Get it yourself."

"Nah, it's easier to steal it when she brings it out for you." Shaking his hand, Dean dropped the hammer with a clatter and started back up the steps. "You want anything?" He grinned back at Sam. "Anything other than Annabeth. I can try bringing her out here, but I'm pretty sure that'd be messy."

"You mean when she clocked you one with the nearest skillet? Yeah, totally." Sam said, bypassing him. "I'll get my own drink, but thanks for the offer." His smirk widened then turned into a snicker when he heard his brother muttering about lovesick kids and sex-crazed maniacs.

Walking into the house, he stopped and frowned. "Dean?" The wary note in his voice brought his brother to his side in seconds. "It's seriously _way_ too quiet in here."

They shared a look, the feeling of foreboding in the house growing stronger by the moment, and then rushed upstairs for the guns stashed away in their room.

"EMF meters have got nothing, everything's completely quiet," Dean said, when Sam met up with him, coming out of the room. "What about Annabeth?"

Sam looked toward her bedroom door; it hung wide open showing the empty room and the late afternoon sun that filtered across her empty bed. He turned away from the memories that it presented and looked down to the lower level. "Kitchen maybe," he said, starting downstairs at a run, the knot in his stomach tightening with every step. "She'd be started dinner by now."

"This'd better be a fucking false alarm," Dean grumbled, following behind him. "She said she was going to make gumbo tonight. You know how long it's been since I had good gumbo?"

Sam ignored the comment as they blew into the kitchen to find the oven open, a pot on the stove burned black, and Annabeth nowhere in sight. He ignored everything, striding through it and out the backdoor. "We would have seen her if she came through the house," he said.

"Y'know what I'm wondering?" Dean asked.

"Where her father is? You're not the only one." Sam said. "This feels _wrong_, Dean."

"Think our mysterious fog decided to make a return visit and go two for the price of one?" Dean suggested, following Sam across the yard. His gun was held out in the open now, wariness obvious in his stance.

_"No,"_ a familiar 'voice' said and Sam spun to see the Confederate soldier, a colonel he thought, standing a few feet away.

"Dean," Sam said tightly. As his brother turned, staring in muted surprise, he walked forward. "Where the hell are they? And why didn't you warn us?"

The colonel frowned, the braiding on his uniform bright in the fading sun. _"I tried," _ he gestured. _"But I was prevented."_

"By whoever took Annabeth and her father?" Dean asked.

"No," Sam said, realizing what their ghostly messenger was trying to tell him. Or, at least, suspecting. He had no proof, but the look in the other man's - ghost's - eyes sent a bitter chill through him and he closed his eyes. "Annabeth was the only one taken."

The ghost pointed in the direction of the barn where they'd left the Impala. Sam had a good idea what he would find before he opened the door.

"Her father knows," he said, looking into the empty trunk.

"Fuck," Dean stared down. "He cleaned us out."

"It's still here somewhere," Sam said absently, barely thinking about that. "We need to go." He turned to the ghost. "You know where they are."

The colonel smiled sadly. _"Of course, we have seen this before."_ Before Sam could ask what he meant by we, the question was answered and both brothers took a step back, bumping up against the car.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean said, expressing Sam's own thoughts perfectly.   
"That's a fucking awful lot of ghosts." He looked up at Sam. "We so don't have enough rock salt, there's not enough in the _state_."

"Mostly civil war," Sam said, his eyes flicking over the hundreds of ghosts standing behind the Colonel. "That story's true? The one Annabeth told us?"

The ghost smiled and lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug. _"She asked for help, we answered."_ He pointed down at the dirt. _"Hurry."_

-

The Colonel led them to a trap door, hidden at the back of the ruined barn. Dean pulled up the door as Sam started down, covering him as he went. Beneath the ground, it was cool, damp, and claustrophobic, but Sam ignored it as he advanced down the dimly lit tunnel.

"Must be some kind of underground railroad thing," Dean muttered from behind him.

"Maybe," Sam said quietly. He didn't really care what it had originally been intended for. He cared about getting to the end of it and finding Annabeth before something happened to her, he had a feeling they didn't have much time.

-

The tunnel let out into a large clearing. Cold mud smeared their clothing as Sam and Dean hugged the ground, sliding out of the tunnel and looking around for Annabeth and her captor. Dusk had fallen with the slowly setting sun and the lengthening shadows made it hard to discern anything from their shapes.

Sam looked behind him and saw their ghostly escort. They didn't need the sun, the Colonel lifted his hand and pointed. Sam and Dean didn't need to be told twice, they headed in that direction, keeping low to the ground as they went.

What they came across at the end of their trip confirmed Sam's suspicions and rage burned in his gut as he took in the sight before him. Tied up between two trees was a blank-eyed Annabeth, the fog of a few nights before, twisting across the ground toward her while her father watched with satisfaction.

Dean growled something, Sam didn't care what. He agreed with the sentiment anyway. "When did you know?" Dean asked, moving closer.

"I didn't," Sam shook his head. "But it makes sense." Annabeth's father had 'slept' through the first attack and he'd always seemed to be the only one that the ghosts meant harm to. He tightened his grip on his gun and looked at his brother. "He's human, Dean." For the first moment, his conviction faltered with the realization of what that meant.

"Well, Sammy, that all depends on your definition of human," Dean returned, looking past him at Annabeth's father.

Having reached Annabeth, the fog swirled around her ankles, something which seemed to shock her out of her stupor. She cried out in terror, yanking wildly at the bonds which held her spread-eagled between the trees. "Daddy?"

The plaintive note reached Sam's ears and he reacted, charging forward blindly. "Let her go!" he demanded, pointing the gun at her father. "Let her go _now_."

Annabeth screamed when her father waved a hand, knocking both Sam and Dean off their feet. They rolled across the clearing in opposite directions, guns lost in the debris that littered the ground.

His breath knocked out of him, Sam fought the wave of dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him and blinked as he tried to look for his gun. Distantly, he heard Annabeth calling his name worriedly, sobs interspersing her comments.

"Oh do stop that, darlin'," Harrison Covington complained wearily. "You've never been the type for hysteria, now's a dreadfully bad time to start." Sam felt the older man's boot land on his back. "You're not going to die, honey, and if your gentleman friend plays his cards right - neither will he or his brother."

"What," Sam coughed, "what do you want from her?"

"Oh, the same thing I wanted from her Mama," Harrison looked amused. "A child." He gave Sam a vicious kick, driving him forward into the mud again. "Not one of my own, mind you," he said with a sniff. "We are civilized after all." He paced away, standing briefly before his daughter. "You remember how your Mama died, don't you Bethie?"

"Childbirth," Annabeth said, the fear nothing more than a quaver in her voice.

"Exactly right," her father agreed. "You can imagine how frustrating that was." He sighed. "Waiting years for the ritual, then waiting months more, only to have her die and take the brat with her. A damn shame that, I had to wait _decades_ for you to grow up." He patted her cheek in a parody of a paternal gesture.

"What ritual?" Dean asked, rage simmering in his voice. "Calling up a demon to knock up your own _daughter_?"

"No," Harrison said with a smirk. "Your brother took care of that for me. You see the baby will have a demonic soul but, unfortunately, it needs to be born of two humans." He chuckled. "Why, Sam, you and your brother couldn't have come along at a better time. My associates were positively _giddy_ when they told me who you were." He returned to Sam's side, hauling him up to ask, "You didn't tell her, did you?"

He chuckled, looking back at his daughter. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see her watching in horror. "You fucked my baby girl and you didn't even give her the courtesy of telling her your _real_ name?" He tsked, shaking his head. "Young people have no manners these days."

Dropping Sam, he gave him another shove into the mud. "Not that it matters, deed is done," he turned. "I'm going to be a grandfather," he beamed proudly. "And to a Winchester no less."

His laughter ran through the clearing and Sam turned his head, meeting Annabeth's gaze. "Winchester?" she echoed, looking away from him quickly, but not before Sam realized something. She wasn't surprised - not entirely.

"Yes, Bethie," Harrison agreed. "Winchester. You see, these boys are legend among my associates and none too popular. Their Daddy saw to it they made an awful lot of enemies where my associates come from."

"Make a few more before this night's out," Dean called out, mocking.

"Hold your tongue, boy," Harrison barked. "I don't have to kill you to finish this, but I just might."

Gritting his teeth, Sam pushed against the power holding him to the ground and stretched out an arm. His gun was there, glinting at him from a pile of leaves, and if he could just reach it, he could do something. The fog was to Annabeth's knees now, and she was watching him with wide-panicked eyes.

Somewhere out if his eyesight, Dean kept taunting Harrison and Sam heard the sound of a fist striking flesh. Dean grunted in pain, but kept on talking as the push of white hot rage gave Sam the extra edge to move forward.

The gun was cold beneath his hand, slippery from the mud, but Sam held fast as he rolled onto his back. His movements caught Harrison's attention and he spun, hand flung outward, as Annabeth screamed.

Sam fired two shots, quick and clean, and everything went silent.

-

The fog vanished, taking her father with it, and Annabeth stared after them silently. In the back of her mind, an image stirred of her mother lying in bed, round from pregnancy, with a somber expression on her face.

Her mother had known. Her mother had known what her father was doing and Annabeth realized something. Something that made her swallow hard and look at the sky.

Hands on her wrist made her look, finding Dean focusing intently on the knots while his tongue probed the cut at the corner of his mouth. He seemed to realize she was watching him and turned to smile at her.

"You okay?" he asked.

Recalling what her father had said, she looked at Sam. "Are you?"

"Oh we're good," Dean said, dropping down to untie her legs. "You'd be surprised how many times we get tossed around like that. It's getting to be a habit which, really, should be disturbing."

Annabeth rubbed her wrists, her fingers strangely fascinated by the rope burns that decorated them. "It should be," she agreed, mind whirling with everything. "Winchester?" she asked.

"Yeah," Sam nodded. He closed the distance between them, but didn't touch her. Instead, he watched her with an expression she couldn't quite read. "I wanted to tell you but – "

"It's a long story," Dean interjected, almost nervous. "You'd be surprised how many people want us dead."

She looked at the spot on the ground where her father had fallen. "No, I wouldn't be," she said.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Sam's fingers, gentle and careful, touched her shoulders, sliding down her arms. "Really?"

Annabeth closed her eyes, her throat tightening with suppressed tears. "No," she admitted, choking out the word. "No, I'm not." She let herself be tugged into Sam's arms, hiding her face against his chest as he ran his fingers through her hair. The more he stroked her hair, the more the tears flowed and she didn't even notice when he lifted her into his arms and started back to the house.

-

It was dawn when Annabeth woke, wrapped up in Sam's arms. He wasn't asleep, she could feel the tension running through his arms, but she didn't say anything to disturb him. She just lay quietly, staring through the window at the tree line.

She was pregnant. At least, that's what her father had insisted when he had -- She closed her eyes. Her father was dead. Her father was dead and he had tried to make some sort of _deal_ with demons. It was insane. It was absolutely fucking insane and she was obviously just as crazy.

She believed it.

The image of her mother appeared in her mind again, eyes sad as she hugged her daughter goodbye.

She gasped, sitting up, Sam at her side in an instant.

"What is it?" he asked, wrapping his arm around her waist and drawing her close again. "Annabeth?"

"My mother knew she was going to die," Annabeth said, sadly. "I remember that. I think she wanted to die." She looked up at the ceiling. "I think she asked the ghosts to kill her." She swallowed around the lump in her throat and looked at him. "I was a little girl, but I can remember her being pregnant and she was always sick. It was a bad pregnancy, but nobody thought anything about that because it happens."

"But you think it was something else?"

She remembered the cold of the fog creeping up around her legs and nodded. "Yes," she said. "I think he did the same thing to her he tried to do to me and," her voice broke, "I think she chose to die rather than let that baby be born. She was so _sad_, Sam. I didn't understand why, but I do now. She knew what would happen when she left me behind but –"

"But she couldn't let your father succeed." Sam pulled her closer and kissed her temple. "Did he this time?"

Annabeth heard the fear in his voice and understood it. She pressed a hand to her stomach and thought about it. "No," she decided. "No, he didn't. I don't think the ritual was finished and I think I would _know_ if he had. I would feel it." She paused, and then laughed faintly. "But then again, I don't feel pregnant either. It should be too soon for that."

"Maybe for regular tests," Sam said. "I don't think they depend on regular ones."

"No," she agreed. "I don't think they do either." She shivered and snuggled back into his arms. "What did he mean when he mentioned your father and why did you have all that stuff in your car?"

"Long story." Sam said.

"I think, if I am pregnant, that I deserve to hear it." She poked him. "Consider it my version of demanding pickles and ice cream."

He laughed, ducking his head. It was cute on him. "It's too early for cravings."

"Not this kind," she said, and kissed him. "I know it isn't good, Sam, I figured that out for myself, but my father sold the soul of my unborn child - one I didn't know I was carrying - to Satan." Her smile was pointed. "I can't think of a better time for you to tell me."

"How about the Tuesday after never?" Sam suggested, brushing hair away from her cheek. "That's good for me." She leaned into him, smiling, and he sighed. "Yeah, okay, now's good."

Wrapped up in his embrace, Annabeth cuddled into him and listened to the steady beat of his heart, letting it calm her as Sam told his story. If not for that story, it could have been a soothing moment. That story was anything but soothing and, by the time Sam was done, his voice was hoarse with emotion and her eyes were puffy and red from tears.

"I'm sorry," he said, his palms rubbing soothing circles on her back.

Wiping at her eyes, Annabeth looked up at him. "For?"

"I'm sorry for dragging you into this," said Sam. "You and the baby deserve better than getting caught up in our drama. You'll be targets for every single thing we're hunting."

She laughed. "Sam? Did we not miss the part where this baby and I were very nearly the pawns of the prince of darkness?" Shifting her body closer to his, she kissed his cheek. "My life as I know it was supposed to end tonight and maybe it did, I don't know. What I do know is that any day that the baby and I have after this? Is a day that my _father_ didn't want us to have."

"I can't do it again," Sam said, his voice choked. "What happened to Jess, if it happened to you -- "

"We don't know that it will," Annabeth said. "Right now, Sam, I'm living in a house that you insist is guarded by an _army_ of ghosts." It was surreal, but if it was true, she was willing to go with it. Apparently she had a child to think of now and an army of ghosts protecting that child sounded fine by her.

She kissed him. "I love you for worrying, I do, but let's not borrow trouble." Her smile was gentle as she added, "With us, trouble'll find us soon enough."

Sam snorted tugged her back down. "Don't remind me."

-

"So, she took the test," said Sam, surprising his brother in the kitchen where he was attempting to resurrect the oven. He grinned when Dean banged his head against the roof of the oven and cursed dramatically. "Sorry."

"Sorry?" Dean growled, rubbing the back of his head. "Forget sorry and warn a guy will you?"

Sam smirked broadly. "Okay."

Still rubbing his head, Dean blinked. "Hang on, you said she took the test? We're _sure_?"

"We were pretty sure before, Dean," said Sam. "Can't possess a soul that doesn't exist yet." He sat on the edge of a table. "But it is almost scientifically official."

"She peed on the stick?" Dean asked, closing the oven door and wiping grease from his hands. "All that?"

"I didn't exactly hang over her shoulder while she was in there," Sam made a face. "But I saw the test myself. She's going to check with the doctor, just to make it official, but - " he shrugged. "I'm going to be a dad."

"And aren't those just the scariest words in the English language," Dean groused. "You okay with this?"

"I have no idea," Sam admitted. "I mean, sometimes I'm over the moon about it and sometimes I'm scared as hell." He laughed. "I think that's how it's supposed to be."

"Probably," Dean said and Sam heard what he didn't say. They had no way of knowing what it was probably supposed to be like. This was the part of life they really had no experience in and the part they'd never thought they'd need to have any. "Scared as hell's probably the best place to start."

"It works for me," Sam said. "How about you?"

Dean smirked. "Me? I'm fine."

"Petrified?" Sam supplied with a hint of a laugh.

"Damn straight," Dean nodded. "Forget diaper duty, man, I'd probably tape up the wrong end."

"Well, I don't know about that," said Sam. "Dad said you did just fine with me."

"That was different," Dean defended. "I was young, and stupid. Very, very stupid."

"Glad you admit it," Sam slid off the table. "We'll figure this out." He waved a hand at the house and looked at his brother, needing that one moment's reassurance he asked, "We'll be able to keep them safe, right?"

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean nodded. "We will."

-

Standing on the veranda, Annabeth pressed a hand to her belly and laughed. "Sam," she said, exasperated, "you have to go."

"But I don't _want_ to go," he pointed out. "It's not safe."

She rolled her eyes, seeing Dean do the same and gave him a shove. "It's been safe for five months; it'll be safe for a few weeks." He didn't move much, but she was gaining traction. The upside of the growing baby bump. "The baby is fine, I am fine, and you two are out of your minds as usual. The Colonel's on duty along with all the others and they're round the clock so the worst that could happen is I'll run out of chocolate pudding."

She stopped to shoot a suspicious look at Dean. "I didn't touch them!" he assured, holding up his hands.

Sam smirked at his brother who, for his part, suddenly became incredibly interested in the architecture. "Still, you're pregnant; this is not the time for me to be taking off."

"Vanessa is coming for a visit and I mentioned the houseful of ghosts, right?" Laughing, she kissed him. "I promise if the baby decides he can't wait another minute, I'll bribe him with snack food until he stays put." Sighing, she tried logic. "Sam, you two have to keep on the move and, God knows, there's no shortage of people out there who could use you two."

"We won't be gone that long," Sam said, sighing, cracking under the combined looks of his brother and his girlfriend. Annabeth tried to hide her smug grin, but suspected she wasn't entirely successful as he pointed at her. "We _won't_ be."

"Mmhmm, just show up before he graduates from medical school," she said, kissing him and stepping back. "Love you."

He grinned broadly, lighting up like a Christmas tree and reached out, pulling her back for another kiss. "Love you," he echoed, rubbing her belly once.

Dean stepped up to hug her as well, but stopped short when she gave him a look of warning. "What?"

"I am not a Buddha," she said.

He grinned. "Oh come on, we could use the luck."

She snorted and gave him a shove toward the front steps. "So buy a rabbit's foot."

He muttered something good-naturedly and started toward the Impala.

"What'd you say?" Annabeth called after him.

He smiled innocently and gave her wave, "Nothing – just glad you've got that whole ghost army, totally beats a dog."

"Hmm," she smirked back, "but they're shit on repair jobs, which is why I am so glad I have you two."

"Sadist," he accused affectionately.

"You know it," she said brightly.

"Anybody starts pulling pigtails or poking eyes, I'm going to have to separate you two," said Sam, leaning on the car.

"He started it," Annabeth said. "I'm just picking up for myself."

"That's what you've got me for," Sam murmured, coming back for another kiss. "Gives me a reason to beat the hell out of him."

She laughed into the kiss. "Like you need an excuse."

He sighed and kissed her forehead. "I really don't think I should be leaving."

"Which is why I'm the one doing all the thinking right now," she smiled. "If I need help, Sam, I promise I'll call everyone we know." She had every single possible phone number of everyone from Ellen to Bobby and a few friends of her own memorized as well as written down by every phone in the house. "And send out ghosts."

Her smile softened when Sam tugged her into his arms, resting his cheek on her hair. "It's just –"

"I know," she said. "Me too." She tilted up her head, presenting her mouth for one last kiss that he happily delivered. "Maybe someday, we can come along for the ride."

"Just as soon as we can promise hellhounds won't chase us clear across the country," Dean said. "First time I take my nephew on a road trip, no way in hell is he getting kidnapped by demon spawn."

Annabeth snorted, "Sure he will," she said. "It's you."

"Maybe so," Dean said, "but they'd be sorry."

That Annabeth believed and said as much, earning herself a broad smile from him. "Get going, you two," she said. "At the rate you're going, it'll be a ghost town by the time you get there."

"No pun intended, right?" Sam teased, sliding into the front seat of the car.

"Oh, pun intended," she said, laughing as she returning to the safety of the veranda. There, she rested a hand on her stomach and waved with the other as they headed down the drive.

When they were gone, she looked down at her stomach and smiled. "Well," she said to her unborn baby, "we'll never be bored."

_"No ma'am."_ the Colonel agreed. _"We won't at that."_

She grinned at him and, leaving the spirits standing sentry, went back inside.


End file.
